RIPPED & READY (S4/PART 3)
RIPPED & READY S4/III
I was determined to get my life back on track, because I refused to be another statistic roaming the streets homeless, looking for my next hit of blow. I was glad that my supplier had been toe-tagged and was now being driven to the nearest morgue to be drained of that rotting blood in his lifeless body and then embalmed. I’m not sure that it is politically correct to be thinking something so cold and callous, but Peewee Jones was a pimple on the ass of society that was long overdue for a precise squeezing. To see a vibrant person with their future ahead of them become this walking zombie with bugged out eyes, wearing dirty clothes, and pacing the streets late into the wee hours of the morning is a sight that I hoped to one day never see.
A drug dealer is nothing but a cancer to society, eating away at the human spirit little by little until there’s nothing left but skin and bones. Marco’s stepsister, Denise, was such a lovely dark skinned sistah when I first met and fell in love with her. Her smooth chocolate unblemished skin had a light glow to it, and she didn’t even need makeup to bring out her beauty – she had it all naturally. I remember how heated Marco became when he was down on his knees servicing me and I asked him if I thought she liked me. The look of disgust in his eyes tore me up inside and I really felt bad for inquiring about her while he was down there with his lips wrapped around my flesh wand taking care of my sexual needs.
That’s why he refused to sleep with me for a long time after that encounter. I have to admit that I was being insensitive, but to me when I get down with a dude it’s purely a sexual encounter and not a romantic one – that was the difference between him and I, I accepted it for what it was, but he couldn’t. I suppose it is because he really is gay and he wants all the romantic activities that go along with the sex, but I just cannot see myself settling down with a nigga. In my future, I see a lovely women who will bare my children, the house with the white picket fence, and two vehicles – one being a minivan. Nothing about that picture includes another swinging dick, so as much as he desires it, he won’t be getting it from me.
Yeah, I know that might seem cold, but I’m a man – a handsome man at that and the world is filled with too many beautiful women for me to be held up in some life with some hardhead, but this is why I needed to find a dude that sees it the way I do, that way there wouldn’t be any loose strings that constantly needed clipping. We fuck and do what we do, get up and wash our asses, give one another the “brothaman-shake” and go on about our business. After the seeds have been spilled it’s all about moving on until the next time we kicked it. One thing for sure, I have to stop playing with my boy’s emotions the way I do. He deserves to be happy and I know that the kind of life he wants, I could never give him.
But damn he’s got some good ass “bussy” (Boy Pussy).
Looks like you’ve learned a new word today, haven’t you?
Well, it’s time for me to get the day started it’s after 10:00AM, and after that exchange of gunfire last night daylight’s hue is simply refreshing. Unfortunately I wasn’t the type of guy to open up his eyes and climb out of bed – no, I had a ritual that included locating the remote control to the television, turning it on, finding a sitcom rerun, and playing with my man tool until I had worked it up to the point of squirting. I never released my juices while laying in the bed, instead I got up before the point of no return, took my ass into the bathroom, stripped out of my draws, then completed the task while beneath the warm soothing waters of a shower. This particular morning I was extra horny, and so I had to stifle my moans to prevent my parents from hearing me as I stroked myself into ecstasy.
“Shit…” I uttered softly.
Damn, sometimes nobody else can do it better than you can do it yourself.
A couple of times I almost lost my footing as I squatted down, gyrating in rhythm, arching my back like a feline taking a satisfying stretch. The sensation I was creating going up and down the shaft of my thick and meaty had me in such a state of euphoria until it was actually hard to keep myself from adding sound to my activity, but I knew I had to refrain from getting too vocal. I know for a fact that both my mother and father had overheard me a couple of times before, because when I sat down at the breakfast table they looked at one another and chuckled nervously. It was rather embarrassing too, but they never made me feel shame about what I was doing behind the closed door of the bathroom.
“Fuck!” I said a little too loudly.
It caused me to stop what I was doing momentarily and cup my mouth.
Before continuing I listened to make sure that I didn’t hear any footsteps going down the hallway outside the bathroom. Once I was certain that the coast was clear, I resumed handling my business. The pulsating stream of water shooting downward onto my magic stick seemed to intensify the effect and it caused my head to spin. I was so deep in my private moment until it felt like I was floating off of the wet mat I was standing on inside of the tub. After a few more strokes I was at the point of no return and when I finally shot my load my entire body shook uncontrollably and I accidentally bit down on my bottom lip a little too hard.
“UGGGH!!!!” I cried out as the sticky contents of my nut sack splattered against the white porcelain walls.
My body convulsed for a couple of minutes after the release and I was out of breath. If there was anyone standing outside that door I know they heard that last sound I made, but it was unavoidable. I tried to be respectful, but shit, when it feels that good it’s hard to contain yourself. After calming down, I grabbed a bar of soap and lathered myself all over and then I rinsed myself off. The lasting effects off that nut were still ringing in my ears when I stepped out of the tub and onto the thick blue bath towel sitting on the floor.
Once I had dried myself off, I took the towel and wiped the condensation that had built up from the steam of the shower off of the mirror. Next I grabbed the dental floss, pulled the appropriate amount of waxy-string out, and I placed the container back on the shelf inside of the medicine cabinet. After flossing my teeth, I grabbed my red toothbrush from its resting location in the family stand, coated the top of it with some toothpaste, and I spent about five minutes brushing my pearly whites. I was a stickler when it came to my teeth, and anyone I dealt with had to have decent teeth. It’s a pet peeve of mine – if you look like you’ve been chewing rocks all your life, then your lips were never going to touch any part of my body.
I meant that shit too.
The rest of my grooming included shaping up my goatee, trimming my nose hairs, and applying moisturizer to my face; for some reason I was taking extra time on myself and I believe it was because of the comment that Marco had made about “smelling” me last night. The vain part of my personality wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, but I knew he was telling the truth. I had skipped the tub a couple of days and I knew that I might have been emitting a slight odor. Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t funky, but I couldn’t lie to him at the moment, because it would be too much like lying to myself.
I checked the mirror to make sure that everything looked cool, and once I was satisfied with the outcome, I exited the bathroom and went into my room to get dressed. Before leaving the bathroom though, I checked to make sure the coast was clear because I didn’t want my mother to catch me streaking through the house in my teal-colored boxer briefs. Hell no, not with all of this meat I got protruding in the front of them. Every time she catches me though, I try to covering myself , but she always tells me that she used to change my diapers and I don’t have anything that she hasn’t seen before.
Excuse me… I believe that what you saw when I was a baby has matured, mother dear.
I never mouthed that off to her; I just thought it to myself.
Bragging about your size to your mother is not a good look.
Hell to the fuck no.
Sometimes I just cracked my own damn self up.
“D’Andre, you had better get your ass out here before I start clearing food off of this table – that’s if you want to eat,” my mother said, standing outside the closed door of my room.
“Alright already, I’m almost dressed,” I said, hastening the pace in which I dressed.
Whatever it was my mother had cooked smelled good as hell.
By the time I made it to the dining room table, my dad was sitting in his favorite position at the head of the table, looking over his reading glasses while reading the morning paper. His silence assured me that he was on one, and that he was going to start hounding me about my future. The last thing I wanted was to get into a heavy discussion with him about my life. I loved my father dearly, but he had this way of making me feel stupid whenever I tried responding to his questions. I’m telling y’all I wasn’t ready to enter the ring with Wallace Washington this early in the “got-dayum” morning.
When he closed up the newspaper, I prepared myself for battle.
“Well…” He said, looking at me over top of those black rimmed reading glasses.
My mother seated herself, and shook a linen napkin from it’s folds and placed it on her lap, very ladylike, without saying a word. That was her way of being respectful to the man of the house. She was old fashion in that way. What my father says pretty much goes beneath our roof. He is never disrespectful to her, and he has taken very good care of both her and me. No one could ever say that my father wasn’t a good provider, because he was. He had always been there for me – he was even there for my friends. They would always tell me how lucky I was to have a father as cool as mine, but I would tell them that if you were his son you wouldn’t be saying that.
Excellent provider, yes…
But he was also a strict disciplinarian.
If I came home with a C on my report card that would always lead into this three hour discussion and the end result would be no television, no phone calls, no outdoor play, no fucking nothing. Looking back on things now, I know he was only hard on me because he wanted me to have a better life than he had. Furthering my education after high school was not my goal, though he always wants to say it was. I didn’t care the much for the classroom structure; I was more of a free spirit. I loved sports and I loved music, but if my grades in the other subjects weren’t right, all of that was cut out until I brought them up.
When I didn’t respond, he slid the glasses off and sternly called my name.
“D’Andre, I believe I asked you a question,” he said, sucking his teeth in agitation.
I rolled my eyes at him.
“Nigga, don’t let my church going attitude fool you; I will bounce up and down on your cute ass if you ever disrespect me. Now again, what the fuck are you going to do with your life? You have been home six months and the most you ever do is roll over out of that bed, scratch your young ass nuts, and go into that bathroom and play with your goddamn self for an hour!” he said, in an authoritative tone.
“Oh, Wallace…!” My mother said, visibly embarrassed by the last part of his comment.
“Cassey, enough is enough now. We did not raise our son to be a sorry ass good for nothing nigga. He needs me to give it to him just like I’m giving it to him, because the calm logical conversations doesn’t seem to be working!” He sneered, looking over at me with a disgusted look on his face.
Before I had a chance to respond to his rant, the doorbell rang.
“FUCK!” he said out loud.
“I’ll get it,” I told him, wanting to get out of his line of sight for a moment.
“No, you’ll sit your ass right there until I’m through talking to you,” He said, as he stood up, throwing his napkin down onto the table.
As he stormed off down the hall I could hear him cursing under his breath.
“Little twenty-something year old nigga ain’t gonna be lying up in my goddamn house without working or going to school.”
My mother looked at me and shook her head.
Once she was certain that he was out of hearing range, she leaned over to me.
“Whatever you do, do not sass him, D’Andre,” was all she said.
I braced myself for his return, but instead I got relief.
“Cassey and D’Andre, grab the car keys…. It’s Mrs. Flora-Mae!” he called out from the front door.
Marco’s mother, oh my God, what’s wrong? I asked myself.
My heart was racing swiftly as both my mother and I scrambled to do what we were told to do without asking any questions. Please God, don’t let anything be wrong with my boy’s mother – he’s already gone through too much as it is.
It just seems as though the drama has set up shop here in the “got-dayum” court.
Marco, I’m on my way, buddy…
Author G. D. Grace reserves all rights and reproduction without written permission is not permitted. If found, legal action will be taken against the person(s) or company(s) that have cut or pasted (Plagiarized) any portion of this written document. Author, G. D. Grace; Published © 2010 November